


Sixteen Going on Cervineteen

by Otterly



Series: deer/tiger idiots [7]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otterly/pseuds/Otterly
Summary: Jamie wanders through Tundratown.
Series: deer/tiger idiots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1094721
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50





	Sixteen Going on Cervineteen

Cameron’s tail swishes like a dancing worm to the cruel, melancholy cry of the saxophone coming from the TV speakers. His hips follow the same rhythm—if he were standing, they would be swaying, and watching them feel like what I imagine a really long drag on a cigarette would feel like. On screen, a panther in a pink leather jacket strolls the halls of her empty high school, singing in a jazzy alto voice. Or was it soprano? I don’t know voices. Cameron must have told me at some point, but I don’t remember.

What I do remember is me I sliding closer to him, moving slowly so the sound of my back scraping against the couch didn’t drown out the music too much. But honestly, if it did, Cameron wouldn’t have noticed.

He’s enthralled. There’s a wonder in his eyes that I don’t get to see a lot, and it’s increasing along with a glossy film along his waterline.

He’s going to cry. I start to sit up a little, but there’s a really beautiful melody that catches my attention so I turn away.

_“I could hurt someone like me, out of spite or jealousy…” _

The panther—Rizzo. That’s the character’s name. Whoever’s playing her is a really nice singer. Musicals aren’t really my thing, but I have to give credit where it’s due.

“I love this song,” says Cameron.

“I can tell,” I tease.

The song wraps up, taking the panther and her silky voice away.

“When I was little, my mom would watch Grease with me. Dad would come home at the same time, and even though he had to sleep, because he had work the next day, but he would end up staying and watching the whole thing.”

“It’s a pretty song,” I say, spinning a little so I can sit on the couch properly.

I turn and look at Cameron. Tears are steadily building across the bottoms of his eyes.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” I tell him. “Divorce must suck.”

That was the first time I ever lied to Cameron.

No, it wasn’t. But that was the first time I ever lied about something big.

I was glad that his Dad wasn’t in the picture anymore, because that guy was a dick. I’m glad that fucker is dead. Cameron doesn’t deserve to be named after him.

I don’t know where I am, but there’s a block of, like, stores or something like half a mile away, so I’m trudging through the snow towards that. There’s light there, and where there is light there might be mammals, and where there are mammals in Tundratown I’m probably going to get robbed or worse.

God, I’m so cold. It’s a good thing I have fur. I’m _so glad_ that I have my _winter coat_ for this exact reason except—_oh yeah, _I trimmed everything down for the party. I’m _so cold_. The snow’s high enough to reach my knees, and even though the cute black jeans I chose to wear tonight are great for hanging out in, they’re thin and weak and the snow’s starting to get them wet.

Wait, no, scratch that. It’s not ‘starting’ to get them wet. They’re wet. _Very_ wet. They’re so wet and I’m so cold that I’ve stopped being able to feel that they’re wet. They just _are_. I’m _just_ wet now. That’s my natural state. Wet and cold and I hate Cameron.

I hate him. I hate Zuri and her stupid brother and our entire class. I regret moving, but that wasn’t really my choice. That was my Dad’s. So I hate him too. I wish they’d all just disappear. I wish I would.

There’s miles of endless white behind me. I glance back at it for a second, making sure that no one’s following me. I’ve been doing that for the last ten minutes. I don’t know why. I’m not scared. It’s instinct or something. There’s a scratch or something that I can’t itch. Itch I can’t scratch.

I stop, my throat pulsing like a ghost is shoving his paws down it over and over again. With a strangled, gurgling yell, I puke up a nice, thin stream of golden bile that steams up the air around me once it makes contact with the snow. It lights my throat on fire on the way out, and the three minutes of spitting and coughing that I go through after that only serve to make me feel better for like, thirty seconds.

Fuck.

I need to stop swearing.

I keep walking. The stores or whatever are pretty close, now. It’s only a few more minutes before I actually get there, and I’m glad as hell to see that there’s a StarBucks amongst the closed stores.

The StarBucks is closed as well—it’s like, two AM—but at least I can leech the wi-fi.

I run through the snow, my life given purpose once more, and I get to the front of the StarBucks, standing against the windows and peering in. Maybe there’s a drug deal or something that I can promise to forget if they just let me in.

Nope. Nothing. Just the sad interior of a closed StarBucks. That’s fine. I just wanted the wi-fi anyway.

I pull my phone out, ignoring that my fingers are quivering, and I unlock it.

Oh, god. I was expecting tons of DMs on InstaRam, texts, maybe a few voice memos, but instead of that, there’s the only thing worse than a phone full of social media alerts: a phone with no notifications whatsoever.

I’m being forgotten by the universe.

The sound of a door closing makes me perk up. I turn towards the source.

There’s a coffee shop like half a block away. The lights are on.

I run. I run as fast as I can and then I come across a nice, solid sheet of ice underneath the snow on the sidewalk and I slip, rolling around on the cold, cold ground until I stop, my chin slamming into the frosted cement. Pain rips at the nerves in my body for about a second, but that, too, freezes with the cold.

I was running _so fast_.

The coffee shop is only a few yards from me. I pick myself up, brushing the snow off of my shivering body, and I walk in.

Heat is so good. I’m never taking heat for granted ever in my life, from this moment on. I swear to god. All the gods. Heat washes over me, gliding over my head and my antlers like a warm, fuzzy hood. I sigh and take a seat at the nearest chair, which happens to be this really big, plush black velvet loveseat in front of the smallest chair in the world.

The marmot at the cash register looks unamused, but tolerant. I’m gonna guess that the kind of mammals walking into a coffee shop at two in the morning aren’t the kind that you wanna hang out with normally.

“Can I take my pants off?” I ask.

He takes a second to consider, and, upon leering at my legs, shrugs at me. My pants come off as soon as I get the go ahead. I set them on the table to dry, putting my phone and wallet into the seat cushion, which leaves me in my Judy Hopps boxers.

Right. Time for coffee. Gotta give the guy some money or he won’t let me stay. That’s how the economy works.

My legs feel all wobbly, but the heating’s already working its magic on me so I don’t fall or puke or anything. I just take a few minutes to get to the front so I can order.

When I’m finally there, the marmot (I’ll name him Marmot, since he doesn’t have a nametag) puts a paw on his chain. “What’s up?”

“I want coffee,” I say.

“You’re gonna want the fries.”

“This place has fries?”

“We have salmon burgers, too, but I doubt that you’re the kind of deer that’s into that sort of thing.”

“Try me,” I growl, grabbing the edge of the counter. Marmot stares me down. It doesn’t take long before I groan and cross my arms. “Fine. I want some fries. You guys have mac n’ cheese or something, too?”

“No. Just that and salmon and coffee,” says Marmot. “Go to your seat and dry off. I’ll bring your food to you.”

“Thank you,” I slur.

“Sure.”

I stumble back to my seat and jump into it, nearly falling out in the process as momentum threatens to push my torso too far over the chair’s arm, but being amazing, I manage to catch myself right before my antler touches the ground, and I pull myself up so I can wait for my fries.

I really, _really_ don’t want to scroll through InstaRam right now but like, what else is there to do? There’s no one in this place except for Marmot. I hope he knows how to season the fries correctly or I swear to god I’m sending them back.

...Okay, I’m not gonna send them back, but I’ll be pissed off. I’ll probably have to talk Cammie’s ear off tomorrow to get it out of my system.

But that’s not happening, is it?

I breathe out hard through my lips, slouching back as I put more weight on the chair. He probably never wants to talk to me again. What a fucking douchebag he turned out to be. I mean, it sure sucks that his dad’s dead, but it would probably _actually_ suck if his dad was, you know, someone worth crying about. Like my mom! She’s dead and I cry about her like, every month, because she was…

God, she was amazing. She would know what to do. I guess Dad would too, if I told him what was going on. He’d listen. He wouldn’t judge me. He’s never judged me in his entire life. Was that why I turned out like this?

I close my eyes. The chair is like, _really_ soft. And comfy. I really like lying down right now. It’s really really really nice.

You know, it’s super warm in here. If I wanted to, I could just fall asleep.

So I do.

I don’t know how long it is until I wake up, but Marmot’s back at the front desk, scrolling through his phone, and the fries that he left on the table are lukewarm.

I’ve never felt more like an animal, but I sit up, groaning and I put the plate of fries into my lap and I just start _going to town_. Salty, fluffy, carby goodness fills me up inside. My teeth grind the fries up faster than I can stuff them into my mouth, and holy crap am I good at stuffing them into my mouth. I feel like a zombie or something, or a pred gone savage that’s eating a nice, fat cow. I love food. How did I ever go so long without food? I should never stop eating. I’m never going to stop eating.

I finish the entire plate of fries in about a minute. All I’m left with is this kind of warm place that feels really nice on my bare thighs.

Marmot coughs from the front desk. “We’re closing soon.”

“What?” I ask. “You guys are open all night!”

“No we’re not. Where’d you hear that?”

“I didn’t. I just sort of assumed when I saw that you guys were open at two in the morning. What’s the point of closing at three?”

“Dunno,” Marmot shrugs. “I don’t own the place.”

Oh, no. At least my pants are sort of dry now. I throw them on, pay Marmot, and start walking to the door.

“Hey,” Marmot calls. I look back at him over my shoulder. He squints at me, obviously trying to decide if he should say what’s on his mind or not.

“What?” I ask.

His ears twitch. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Stop drinking. It’ll screw with your brain.”

I laugh. “Sure thing.”

He lets me walk to the door without saying another word. I stop before I open it, savoring the warm heating of the coffee shop, the quiet atmosphere. Outside I’m gonna be bombarded by wind and cold. It’s best for me to remember this moment just in case I die out there.

I open the door.

Yep, the cold gnaws at the skin under my fur like ants on spilled ice cream, and I can barely hear my thoughts over the wind. I pick a direction and start walking. Doesn’t matter where I go. I don’t wanna go home yet.

The streetlights make the air look misty, and the snow’s all purple and gray at the same time. It’s pretty nice. Peaceful, even. I thought I was in the middle of a storm before, but it seems like if I am, I’m in the very middle of it. The eye.

After fifteen minutes of walking, my hooves start getting tired again. Weirdly enough, I’m not as cold as I was before the fries. Maybe my body’s producing more heat now that it has some fuel in the engine.

I should probably be looking for someplace I can stay, but I’m not seeing anything. All I’m seeing in the places I walk past are locked doors and no lights.

I walk past closed independent clothing shops that each thing for mannequins that look eerily similar to Gazelle’s tiger dancers, groaning after the third. In the middle of those shops are either small (but nice, and super expensive) apartments or Pandarin take-out places with menus that I’ve never been able to read.

Wait, I know where I am. Have I always been here? Have I just been _really _stupid?

I look around, and it’s like the feeling of being lost is falling off of my shoulders—like it’s sand. There’s a StarBucks on the other side of the street, but it’s one that I know the interior of, because I once spilled two pumpkin spice lattes in a row at the front door.

My heart soars, and I start running again, making sure to keep a light, but brisk jog that takes me past a block of more indie hipster clothes and cheap food to actually good food that I’ve had for dinner every Friday since—since seventh grade or something like that.

Just across the street is a building that takes up a third of the block; A glass cube with cleanly stone walls on the inside, with booths made from fake black snakeskin, and tables that stand tall and skinny that are draped with white satin tablecloths, both surrounding a bar that houses Zootopia’s best selection of rarified spirits—which I’m pretty sure just means expensive booze. Just beyond that bar, though, is a kitchen that staffs some of the best chefs in the industry. A kitchen that’s made some of the best food I’ve had in my life.

Probably won’t get to eat there for free anymore. As of tonight, the owner’s son hates my guts.

I walk across the road, my legs trembling. The restaurant’s sign is in a beautiful silver cursive that catches the moonlight like a model catching eyes: The Crossing by Alexandra.

The back lights are on.

Are people still working? No way. I creep around the perimeter—I try peering into the glass, but the glass is so caked in frost and snow that it makes it hard to see, and when I come closer my breath fogs it all up. Eventually I get to the back.

I check for any ruffians looking to take away my purity, and after seeing that there are in fact, no preds around, I stroll into the dark alley containing The Crossing’s garbage dump and centralized smoke break spot. I’m only a little scared.

The back door proves to be locked when I try to open it. I knock a few times. Loudly.

…

This is stupid. The janitor probably forgot to close the light off before he left or something. I’m stupid.

I sigh and turn to leave, but the door opens at that exact moment. An antelope in a black hoodie answers the door.

“Jamie?” he says, voice squeaking.

I squint at him. His eyes are this nice light green, and his pattern’s pretty standard for more antelope, but I don’t know him. “Uh, yeah?”

“It’s me,” he smiles. “You wanna come in?”

“Who?” I ask, stepping backwards. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I don’t know the kind of stuff that goes down when Alex closes this place but I don’t wanna find out—I’m perfectly fine ignoring that stuff if it doesn’t affect my life so I’m just gonna go—”

The antelope’s smile twists into a frown. “You really don’t recognize me? You see me every friday.”

I blink, conjuring my memory to give me _something._

Wait. My eyes widen. I give him a once-over again, and he blushes. That _dumb_ blush of his confirms it for me.

“...Kevin?” I gawk.

Kevin laughs and steps aside to invite me in. “You really didn’t recognize me?”

“You’re always dressing like a girl,” I tell him, breathing out in relief as I enter the warm interior of the restaurant. Someone’s cooking something. I sniff the air: dill, salmon, beets.

“Gets me more tips,” he says. “Why are you outside this late? Where’s Cameron?”

I bite my lip. What, am I just an accessory or something? “Why is the restaurant open?”

“Because of me,” a voice, smoky and firm, but still soft and maternal, drifts through the building.

My heart nearly gives out on the spot. I back up and bit, and Kevin raises an eyebrow at me. I ignore him though, and I turn around, eyeing the door knob. Is it too late to leave? Maybe she hasn’t smelled me yet. No, even if she hasn’t smelled me, she’s heard me, and if she’s heard me then—

“Jamie, sweetheart?” the voice calls out. “Come here.”

It’s like my spine is a medium sized jenga tower and a drunk elephant just tried to push a middle block out of its place.

My posture collapses. That’s what I mean.

I cross my arms as I turn around and walk out from the back, into the restaurant and towards a booth close to the bar, where Cameron’s mom sits with an untouched mojito.

Alex is a massive specimen of a tiger. Her stripes mimic Cameron's, and she's wearing a white suit that matches the pearls around her neck, and dark red lipstick that I don’t take my eyes off of as I slide in beside her. I can’t look her in the eyes. Her gigantic paw reaches out to touch my back, recoiling when it makes contact.

“My god!” she exclaims. “You’re freezing!”

She smells so much like Cameron. It’s almost uncanny. I guess they do live in the same house.

Her arms snake around my body as I climb into her lap. Warmth feels like it’s being beamed into my body by a ray gun or something. I’m shivering. Since when was I shivering? I breathe out, and even my breath feels cold against the supreme toastiness that is her fur.

She nuzzles the top of my head, gently using her claws to scrape stray bits of snow off of my antlers before she starts to groom me.

Normally I’d laugh and try to get away, playfully struggling against her motherly affection, but this isn’t the time for that. I just sigh and let it happen.

She smells like Cameron. Did I mention that?

“Sweetie,” she coos. “You’re crying.”

“No I’m not. It’s just s-so warm in here that my eyes are defrosting.”

I screw my eyes shut and wrap my arms around her and I squeeze tight.

We stay like that for a while, but then I start feeling dizzy so I pull away and sit properly beside Alex. Her arm stays wrapped around my shoulders, though.

“You’ve been drinking,” she says.

“Yeah,” I admit.

“I’m going to have to tell your father tomorrow,” says Alex.

“Okay,” I nod, the dizzy feeling in my head intensifying.

“Why didn’t you sleep over?”

I shake my head. “Cameron didn’t drink.”

“I know he didn’t,” she says. “Where is he? Are you okay?”

“Don’t let him be in trouble please,” I say, feeling a sharp pain rising in my chest. “Don’t ground him. I convinced him to have a party.”

“I don’t care about all of that,” she says. “Jamie. Look at me. In the eyes.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Jamie…” she warns.

I’m powerless as I look up into her deep brown eyes, which are red from crying. They pierce through every pathetic move I’m trying to pull to avoid telling her the truth, and tears start to spill out of my eyes. My mouth feels like it’s being weighed down by fifty pound dumbbells as it sags into a frown.

“I-I...” I stutter, not being able to find the right words. “Cameron hates me.”

My tears flow faster as she makes a heartbroken moan. “Oh, sweetheart…that could never be true.”

“I said something bad about—about Older Cameron. We got into a fight.”

Alex exhales out of her nose.

“I’m sorry that he died,” I rasp.

“You don’t have to say that. I for one, am not sorry,” she says, her mouth pressed into a hard line. “The only thing I’m sorry for is that our son is now mourning for him.”

“How did it happen?” I ask. “No—you probably don’t want to talk about that, do you?”

“He was careless,” murmurs Alex. “That’s all I’m going to share with you.”

She reaches for her drink, but glances at me and puts her paw down.

“You can drink,” I say. “It wouldn’t be fair if I was the only drunk mammal here.”

Alex laughs softly. “I don’t want to set a bad example.”

I put my head on her shoulder, and she rubs the side of my arm. We don’t say anything for a while.

“Why aren’t you home?” I ask.

“I figured that Cameron had you,” she says. “Now that I’m wrong, to tell you the truth, I’m scared to go.”

She falls silent, and looks away from me. I’ve never known Alex to be scared of anything in her life. This is a tiger who managed to keep her business going during the Savage Crisis. Who fought Cameron Sr. on the night she left him, bare paws, and got the shit beat out of her but still managed to take one of that asshole’s eyes out.

I don’t know what to do, so I put my hoof on top of her paw and rub it. Her fur is silky smooth. “Sometimes my dad tells me that he has no idea what to do next. He doesn’t like doing that, because he doesn’t want to scare me with adult stuff when I have school and growing up to do, but I like knowing when he’s feeling down.”

“Is that so,” Alex whispers.

I close my eyes. “Why is Cameron sad?”

“Feelings are complicated,” Alex answers. “Parental feelings are very complicated. Cameron was close with his father before the divorce.”

“He misses having a family, right? I thought I—I don’t know—I could like, fill that spot in his heart.”

Alex’s loud, boisterious laugh erupts from her maw as she throws her head back. “I don’t think you’re tall enough.”

I huff, looking away. My cheeks are burning.

“Oh,” she says, quieting down. Her paw strokes my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you.”

“It’s whatever,” I mutter. “Dads and best friends are different things, I guess, but...I just don’t get it. Older Cameron sucked. Sorry, but that’s the truth. That _is_ the truth. He sucked.”

“Not to _younger_ Cameron,” Alex says. “You don’t have to like Cameron’s father to be sympathetic to his sadness.”

“I know. I mean, I knew that, but…” I groan, putting my face into my hooves. “Oh my god. I’m stupid.”

Alex licks a messy patch near my right ear.

“You’re not stupid, Jamie.”

“I am. I’m stupid. I’m a dumb fucking idiot and Cameron’s gonna hate me forever now that I’ve completely _fucked_ with him the night he found out his dad died and—”

Alex’s tone hardens. “Jamie. Stop. Now.”

I stop talking.

“Look at me.”

I turn to her. Alex is looking at me with steely eyes.

“You’re not stupid,” she says. “Say it.”

“But I _am—”_

“Say. It.”

“I’m not stupid,” I mumble, blushing hard. “There. Are you happy?”

Alex rubs my back for a while, which is nice.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Let’s get you some food, then.

I sigh. “Okay.”

After dinner, Alex drives me home from the restaurant. The car ride isn’t very long—we’re only about ten minutes away from my house and there aren’t any other vehicles on the road, so all I have to do once I’m in the Cattleac is close my eyes for a little bit.

When I open them again, we’re rolling up to the front of my house. Outside, the snow’s starting to pick up again.

Alex sighs. “Looks like we both have to go home.”

“I don’t want to,” I say.

“You can come back with me and—”

“Cameron wouldn’t be happy.”

She presses her lips together. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t. Please,” I whisper. “Please.”

“Okay…” she murmurs. “Good night, Jamie. Keep warm.”

“Thank you.” I exit the car, gritting my teeth as the cold comes back to lick at my ears.

My house, a single story of gray stone and a muddy red roof, only about a third of the size of the tigers’ borderline mansion, looms over me like the final boss in a video game. There’s probably no one inside, but I’m scared of it anyway. I don’t want to be by myself right now, but I don’t want my dad to be there, too. Which is worse? Being vulnerable to a parent you have to be strong for, or being alone with that vulnerability?

I walk up the path and the front steps, glad that my keys are somehow still in my pocket, and I step inside.

The inside of my house doesn’t feel like home, but it has my things and my dad sometimes and that’s enough for me to feel comfortable. I don’t really have a hallway or a foyer. The front door just leads into the living room and past the living room, where the beige wood floor suddenly turns into white tile, is the kitchen.

I’m tempted to just crash on my couch and sleep there, but if I puke again I want it to be in my room and not the living room, so I take a few more steps and walk into the only “hall” that we have. It’s not more than five or six metres, and it contains three things: my room on the left, my dad’s room in the middle, and the bathroom on the right.

I turn to walk into my room, so I can finally snuggle up under some blankets and cry or sleep, or cry myself to sleep.

“Jamie?” calls a deep baritone voice from my dad’s room.

I freeze, and all I can do is watch in horror as my dad opens the door. Dad’s home, and he’s not only home, but he’s _awake_. If he’s home, then I’m up too late. If he’s awake, then I’m interrupting his sleep, and if I’m messing with his sleep then he’s not gonna be able to do his jobs, and he’s not gonna make up that sleep debt for a month or two or three. Dad and I should never be awake at the same time.

But here he is, and here I am, quivering.

My dad’s a muscular, perfect buck. His shoulders are wide and his torso’s built enough so his body makes that V shape that actors have. This house was made with horned mammals in mind, but even so, my dad has to watch his antlers when he steps out of his room. He probably just got back from his casino job, because his bowtie’s still around his neck and his vest is unbuttoned.

“Dad,” I say. “Go to sleep.”

He bites his lip. “You look terrible, bud.”

“Why are you awake? You have work in…” I check my phone, which is now at 1% battery. “Three hours. Oh my god. Dad, you need to sleep, please.”

I walk towards him, but he raises a hoof. “I’m taking a sick day at the diner tomorrow.”

“You can’t!” I gasp. “Dad, no. You have to sleep.”

“Jamie, relax,” he says, putting up another hoof, slowly stroking the air in a downwards motion. “Don’t worry. We’re going to be fine on money.”

“That’s what you said last time,” I say. “And then your jerk boss fired you because you missed a single day and then you only had one job and you stopped eating breakfast _and _lunch so I could have food money. You_ lied to me! _Remember that? Go to sleep!”

“I got a promotion at the casino. Line manager. I’m not dealing cards anymore.”

“...What?”

“Everything’s fine, buddy,” he coos. “Everything’s alright.”

Dad takes another step towards me, and I start crying.

Before I know it I’m being carried onto the couch and he’s holding me close as I bawl into his chest. Tears spill out of my eyes, but there aren’t as many as there were earlier. I’m probably coming close to using up my tear storage for the next couple of months. Maybe even a year.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asks, once I’ve calmed down a bit.

I explain. I take my time, but he never rushes me into an explanation. He doesn’t even tell me off for drinking. I figure that I smell like puke so he probably knows I’ve learned my lesson. He waits for me to explain every detail, describe the cold and the night and Alex and Cameron…

It’s easier than I thought. Talking to him. Maybe I just had to talk to someone. Someone outside all of this, I mean.

When I’m done spilling my soul, my dad takes his time with responding. Normally that would drive me crazy, because the both of us like to do things quickly, without thinking too hard, but I understand why he’s so reluctant to give me a fast answer.

“I don’t know what to do,” I tell him, and I can see his thoughts get interrupted by the way his face twitches, how his eyes become more alive as they focus on me.

I close my eyes, not wanting to look at him. “I don’t know how to do anything, dad. I always mess things up. I don’t know how to help myself. I’ve never helped myself. There’s always Cameron or Alex or you or Zuri to come by and pick up the pieces. I have nothing that I can do.”

“Don’t say that,” he says. “Look at me.”

I look at him. He cups my face with his hooves gently. “You’re a good boy, Jamie. You can be selfish sometimes, and you have a hard time with that, but you’re a _kid_. You’re learning about life, son, and let me tell you that you can fix this. You’re strong, and proud, and sometimes I wonder if you’re just a little crazy, but you’re _good_. I know you’ll be good in the end. I know that whatever you’re going to do—whether that be tomorrow or next week or however long it takes you to come up with something—you’re going to do it for the right reasons, because while you may get lost sometimes, you _always_ find your way back to what matters.”

“I love you,” I murmur.

My dad smiles. “I love you too, buddy. Let’s get you to bed. And if I catch you drinking again I’m taking one of your antlers.”

I wake up in bed the next morning. Everything’s in boxes in my room, like I just moved in even though I’ve been here for a few years now. I think I just like boxes. You know where everything is when everything’s in a box, and you don’t have to worry about like, decorating or anything because ‘just moved in’ is kind of a big mood. And it’s not like I sleep here all that much anyway.

My heart breaks a little, remembering that last night wasn’t a bad dream, and Cameron still hates me.

I spend a while staring at the ceiling. What do I do? Well, I have to make it up to Cameron, obviously. But I don’t know how. But I have to know how. No one else knows.

No one else knows Cameron like I do.

...

I get out of bed and walk to the kitchen. Dad’s making breakfast.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” I sit at the table and lay my head down on it.

“Hangover?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised. Don’t drink again.”

“I won’t.”

“At least don’t let me catch you.”

“I won’t,” I say. “What are you cooking?”

“Mashed beets.”

He finished up and serves them on a plate. They’re not the prettiest thing in the world, but they taste delicious. They’re slightly sweet and they’re not super fine, so you can still get a bit of a crunch off of them, but not a hard crunch, you know? They’re good.

I finish the plate in a few minutes.

“Need more?” asks Dad.

I shake my head. “Do I still have money in my debit card?”

“For food? Yes.”

“And the train?”

Dad looks at me. “This a part of your apology to Cameron?”

I swallow. “I think I have an idea.”

“Then yes, use the card.”

I smile—it’s been too long since I’ve smiled.

“Do you know the really long, giant box of chocolates at the window over there? With the gold box and the seventy-five different kinds of chocolate inside?” I bat my eyes at the horse at the counter. “Can I get one of those?”

The horse nods obediently, going into the back to find one. I turn to admire the empty chocolate shop. It must be pretty great to work here. Smell chocolate all day. Probably eat chocolate all day. It’s not booze, so the employees should be able to do that. They’d definitely get cavities, though.

The horse returns, placing a box of chocolate half as long as my torso but just as wide on the counter.

“That’ll be sixty dollars, please,” he says.

My eyes twitch. My hoof shakes as I stick it into my pocket and give him a red debit card.

He taps it on the machine and my brain threatens to split as a loud _beep_ rings out.

He hands my card back to me, along with the receipt.

“T-Thanks,” I smile, pretending like I haven’t spent tons of money on apology sweets.

The horse nods and hands me the card back, along with the receipt. I shove them into my pocket again before I walk out of the store.

The sky is gray, but there won’t be rain. It’s not dark enough to rain.

I walk half a block, tracing the houses and buildings covered partially in ivy with my eyes. It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Memories come flooding back to me: playing tag in the alleys, crouching into the back doors of restaurants and hair salons to escape sudden rain, hide and seek at the park and going for food afterwards.

It’s not long before I reach The Bark Shack, still almost fancy but maintaining a greasy spoon aesthetic. It’s not busy today.

The hostess at the front smiles at me when I walk in. “Hi!”

“Hi!” I shoot back, smiling just as wide. “I’m gonna need like, a lot of take-out.”

Alex picks me up, helping me get the food into the car before she drives us off to Tundratown. Traffic’s pretty busy, but it doesn’t feel like long. We pass the wall before I know it.

“I’m glad you’re doing this,” she says as the road changes from asphalt to snow. “He’s been crying all night.”

“Not over me,” I say, in a tone that’s much too bitter than I mean. “Sorry. I meant, like, there’s a good chance he doesn’t want to see me.”

“You’re the best thing for him to see right now,” Alex replies. “He needs someone that understands.”

I tense up and cross my arms. “I do understand, don’t I? I understand completely. He probably...god, he probably thought I was the only one who _could _understand, and I just had to…”

Alex sighs. “What’s done is done. The important thing is today.”

“But I was _horrible_ about it,” I argue, gripping my jacket.

Alex is quiet for a moment. We make a turn into a residential street that I don’t recognize. A cul-de-sac. She drives up to the edge of it and parks quickly.

Then she turns to me.

“You know…” she starts. “Cameron—Cameron Sr., he was a good father up until we split. And I realize that it must have looked bad to a prey mammal without any concept of how some preds settle their feelings, but I won that fight. I got away bruised, but I wasn’t broken. I...I realize why you dislike him so much. Bad father hits a female and leaves his child, and doesn’t contact them ever again. But it wasn’t like that, Jamie. It wasn’t so...black and white. And my son’s always been a little sad that you never understood that. Maybe I should have explained this to you sooner.”

I shake my head. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m not saying it is,” she says, smiling slightly. “I was simply expressing a regret, and now that it’s out in the air, I can move on.”

“Why did you agree to move when I did?” I ask. “I mean, you guys got a new house and everything.”

“It was a perfect opportunity to move close to The Crossing and the other restaurants,” Alex explains. She studies the neighbourhood we’re in with happy eyes. “That, and I’d take dealing with snow over being slightly wet all the time. Do you remember how you and Cameron would run into the house, completely soaking from the rain? I’ve never gone through so many towels so fast.”

I laugh. “Those were the days, weren’t they?”

“No,” she says, placing a paw onto my shoulder. “Your days—your best days—they’re starting now.”

Her eyes are so different and so much like Cameron’s. The piercing look in them. The way that looking into them makes me feel exposed and emboldened at the same time.

“You’re always so nice to me,” I say.

My heart skips a beat as she grins, fully toothed. “You’re family.”

“I’m in love with your son.”

My chest quivers as her smile drops, and soon my entire body’s shaking as she looks me up and down. Oh god. She doesn’t like me. She’s always just been putting up with me, hasn’t she? She hates me. She’s gonna push me out of the car. Like son like mother, right? No, that’s mean. But she’s looking at me for an extraordinarily long amount of time and I’m _really_ freaking out. What happens if she doesn’t approve? Do I go through with this plan anyway? Am I gonna have to walk home?

Alex bursts out into loud, exuberant laughter. “The look on your face!”

“I-I’m serious!” I say.

“No shit!” she chortles. “I’ve known that since you entered high school together. Your father has, too. Is this the day you finally do something about it?”

“I—” I stop. That wasn’t a part of the plan. That could make everything go wrong. This was supposed to be a grand, selfless gesture. I can’t have something in it that makes it look selfish. “I don’t know, should I?”

Alex smiles again, lips only. She rubs my back lovingly. “If you want to, then I think that would be wonderful. There’s no one else I would have for my boy. You’re like another son to me, Jamie. And the daughter I never had.”

I blush and shove her paw away. Alex laughs, pulling out of her parked spot and rejoining the main road.

It’s twenty minutes of the newest pop hits blasting on the radio before we arrive at the house.

5582 Snowcastle Way. It was built less than ten years ago and renovated heavily by Alex and her friends last year. It’s three stories tall, which isn’t the craziest thing in the world, but it’s width is as wide as two and a half houses. There aren’t many neighbours, because everyone who lives here is like super rich and the houses are spaced really wide because they’re all really pretty and _really huge_.

“You ready?” Alex asks me. I’ve explained the plan to her at this point, and she’s agreed to go through with it after laughing at me again.

I try and give her a big smile, which ends up nervous and shaky. “I am.”

We park. She unlocks the doors, gathering the food and the chocolate up into her gigantic arms. I get out, waiting for her to circle around so I can stay behind her as we walk up the front steps.

“How’d you come up with this idea anyway?”

“You know that _super_ old movie _10 Things I Hate About You?”_

I stop walking as we get to the front door, and I sit on the steps. She opens the door and walks in. I’m supposed to wait until she can do a thorough sweep of the ground floor—make sure that the coast is clear and all.

So I sit and wait. And I think, and thinking about it, I don’t know if this is the best idea anymore.

I mean, it’s _stupid_. Really stupid. This can’t possibly work as an apology, and even if it qualifies, why would Cameron ever forgive me? It was last night! He still might be all pissed off about it. He might not be ready for this.

Is this manipulation? Is that all an apology is? Cry the adequate amount of tears and use your past to shield yourself from the dumb shit you’ve done and hope that whoever you’re apologizing to gets emotionally exhausted enough to let their guard down and let you in another time? So you can just up and break their heart again at a later date?

I should leave. Wait a few more days. A year, maybe. I don’t know. It’s too soon.

According to _who_, though? Because I know that even a couple of hours without Cameron feels like a million years. Fifteen minutes away from that big, lame nerd is—it’s _torture_. And I know that’s melodramatic, but it’s how I feel.

Does he feel the same way?

I’d like to think so, but who can say?

He can.

What am I gonna do if he says no? Kill myself?

No, I really like living.

I don’t know about this plan.

I hug my knees and rest my snout on my shoulder. What if I’m wrong?

I guess I have nothing to lose, right? Everything’s a mess as it is. But I could lose a little more than that today. Cameron pushed me out of a car, sure, but he never said to leave him alone. He might say that as the first thing he does when he sees me. And I’ll have to listen to him, and the next two years of my life are gonna be a living hell.

Cameron Sondaica. Totally tried to kill me, tried to make up for that, became my friend, became my _best_ friend, followed me to another district. My better half. And I know that it’s not healthy to think of someone else as a puzzle piece that completes you, but it’s true. I’m nothing without him.

My heart feels like it’s on fire, and that’s when Alex opens the door and whispers “Come in.”

I perk up, but I don’t move. I can leave right now if I want. It would be easy.

I’m sixteen. I don’t have to lock someone into my life like this. Chances are that, even if it works out, we won’t even make it till college, and it probably won’t work out anyway.

But I can’t leave.

If I go now, I don’t think I’m ever going to forgive myself for not trying.

Man, I feel old. Or as grown-up as I’ve ever felt.

I stand and turn around, and my chest throbs with every step I take towards the front door.

Alex lets me in.

The house looks completely pristine, aside from a spot where there used to be a glass table that’s a little scratched up from when it broke.

I walk to the living room, decked out with these beautiful, gigantic couches where I’ve slept on every inch, and I stand in the middle of it. Alex must have placed the food in the kitchen, because the smell of it is wafting in from here—bug burgers, potato wedges, salmon and crab cakes, mac and cheese…

I walk to the TV and watch as it turns on, turning from black to a dreamy light blue: the menu for the karaoke machine. _Welcome to the SuperSing3000! Would you like to select a song? _

When was the last time we even used this? Must have been a year or two ago. I feel like there might have been a birthday where I jammed the fuck out and embarrassed myself in front of a large crowd.

I look back at Alex, who tosses me a mic. I just barely catch it, to her amusement. It’s way heavier than it looks! I swing it around a little, awed at how weighty it is. The thing must be like five pounds. Whatever it is, _it’s too much_.

Alex clears her throat, directing my attention back towards her.

“Ready?” she says.

A rich, heady voice calls out from the top floor. I almost don't recognize it, because it sounds so devoid of—of _everything_.

“Mom?” Cameron calls.

I freeze up. I nearly ask Alex if she thinks this is a good idea, but my conviction remembers that it’s there, and I stop and I breathe. Slowly. In, out, in, out…

“Jamie?” she says.

I grin at her, hoping that she’ll grin back, and I’ll be reassured. She does. My heart’s soaring and feeling like it’s being squeezed to death at the same time.

“Alexa,” I say. “Play _There are Worse Things I Could Do_.”

“We don’t have an Echo,” says Alex.

“I was talking about you.”

“Oh. What’s the magic word?”

“Could you play Cameron’s favorite song from Grease, please?”

“There we go.”

Five alien sounding piano notes drift out of the speakers.

I hold the mic up to my mouth. _“There are worse things—”_

The mic was _way_ too close! The speakers scream with feedback as me and Alex cringe. Maybe setting them to max volume wasn’t the best idea.

But the song’s still going. Oh my god, I’m so sweaty. There’s like a thick sheen of moisture just behind my ears. I try again, holding the mic at a reasonable distance away from my mouth. _“Even though the neighbourhood thinks I’m trashy, and no good—I suppose it could be true, but there are worse things I could do._”

My hooves are shaking, and I honestly feel feel like I’m going to get hot flashes or something from how hot my face is burning. Luckily, Alex swoops in so the song doesn’t go unbroken.

_“I could flirt with all the guys—” _she sings, and her voice sounds like fire on water. _“Smile at them, bat my eyes—” _

I’m grabbed by one of her huge paws and spun around a few times. Dancing! I can dance. I can dance way better than I can sing. I press my back against her, semi flirtatiously, rolling my shoulders as she keeps on singing._ “Press against them when we dance—make them think they stand a chance—then refuse to see it through...that’s a thing I’d never do...”_

Suddenly, the light inside me starts to dim. Cameron’s not gonna show, is he? He probably locked himself in his room as soon as he heard my dying bird call of a voice. This was all for naught. I feel sick.

No, it’s fine. It’ll be fine. Just stay committed.

Alex takes my hoof and we waltz around the living room; I’m taking steps not to get stepped on, and she’s taking steps not to crush me. We sway and spin leisurely to the music, and as we do my eyes start to water.

Damn it. I reach up as we step back in unison, and she passes the mic off to me. I turn and we sing into it together. _“I could stay home every night—wait around for Mr. Right—”_

Alex’s eyes widen, and I stop singing. I turn around and Cameron’s standing there in a red jacket and a yellow hoodie and a pair of beige pants that I helped him shop for.

He’s—he’s incredibly confused. He looks like he just walked in on two mammals having an acid trip.

_Perfect_.

There’s still more song to go. I ignore him completely, grab the mic from Alex and start walking around the living room, looking everywhere but at him as I spill my heart out through music—my voice breaking and squeaking constantly.

I croon into the microphone, brushing my headfur back with a hoof. _“I could hurt someone like me—out of spite or jealousy…I don’t steal, but I do lie, and I can feel and I can cry: a fact I’ll bet you never knew..._”

I’m directly beside Cameron now. I turn toward him, tears streaming down my face. I drop to my knees suddenly, startling him.

I’m here, Cammie. I’m here and I managed to lure you out and I really hope this isn’t totally putting you off.

_“But to cry in front of you…” _My voice turns husky as I look up at him, more tears flowing forth from my exhausted eyes. _“That’s the worst thing I could do.”_

Cameron blinks. “What the _hell?” _

“Don’t say anything yet,” I reply. “Look, I know you’re super mad at me right now but hear me out first. Just—just let me plead my case. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said anything about your dad. That wasn’t my place. I should have been there for you, like you’ve been there for me. You’re my best friend, and I wasn’t acting like yours. I’m sorry. I was drunk, but that’s not an excuse. I was only thinking of myself last night. Cameron, I—”

I stop. “I’m glad you’ve stuck with me for all this time. I know I’m hard to be around sometimes, and I can be way too needy. I swung by our old neighbourhood and got us some food from The Bark Shack. Remember that place? I-I got some chocolate too. All for you. And, um, this is really stupid, but…”

I reach into my back pocket and pull out a fistful of shiny brass coins—arcade tokens. The smile I give him is anxious and shuddering as I hold the tokens up, putting a knee up so I’m only kneeling on one.

“Be my best friend again? Go to the arcade with me, share your dorky musicals with me late at night, eat breakfast, lunch and dinner with me?” I ask. My heart’s going double time. It’s going to stop at this rate. I hold my smile, looking up at his piercing eyes.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Cameron opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a strangled sob. I almost get up to make sure he’s okay, but he stops me. I stay put, waiting for his response.

He puts his paws over his mouth and shuts his eyes as he cries softly for a moment. Then he looks at me, holding them close to his chest. “I’m sorry for leaving you in the snow last night. I-I thought I ruined everything by doing that. I thought that we weren’t ever gonna talk again and—”

“It was my fault,” I say. “I said—”

“That doesn’t excuse pushing you,” he says, bringing his paws out again, looking at them like they’re sharpened knives. “That doesn’t excuse anything I did. I was mad at you, Jamie. I was_ so_ _mad_...but that doesn’t mean that I was justified in doing anything that hurt you. God, I could have cracked one of your antlers off or you could have—you could have _died_.”

I huff. “A little dramatic, don’t you think? I’m covered in fur.”

“Jamie,” he says, putting his paws down so he can look at me. “I’m sorry.”

“...Don’t push me out the car again?” I ask.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” I nod, laughing a little.

Then he wraps his arms around me and his lifts me up. I drop all the tokens, and they clatter on the ground as he raises me high enough in the air so my head’s slightly above his. My hooves find the sides of his striped face, and the second that I see his eyes is stretched out into forever. They’re brighter than the sun and there’s a duality in them—a beautiful discordance like a house fire in a blizzard. It doesn’t make sense for something to hold so much importance in my life. Who deserves to have so much power over another mammal?

I nearly stop breathing, but suddenly the world is moving again and my lips are drawn into his like a bee to a flower in the spring. Cameron’s tears flow into my palms as our kiss deepens. He pulls me closer, squeezes me tighter. My dad always said that when something really important happens in your life, you can feel your body physically change along with your mind. I feel supernatural right now.

Kissing Cameron feels better than I’ve ever dreamed. His lips are soft and they taste like cherries, and he smells like gardenia shampoo and day old citrusy cologne. His face fur feels patchy and dry, but it’s still soft and still his, so it’s perfect. The way that he breathes out of his nose slowly, tickling my own, brings more tears out of my eyes. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe he’d take me back.

Cameron lowers me a little and I wrap my legs around his chest, clinging to his neck as our lips separate and our noses touch.

“I love you too,” he says.

I whimper softly. “You’d better.”

Cameron back up and sits on a couch and we kiss again, parting our lips slightly so our tongues can meet for the first time, smooth meeting soft and sandpaper-y. I moan slightly, and we try and get as close as possible. Cameron leans back and I straddle him, hooves roaming the side of his face, playing with his ears as his fingers brush over my tail and grab my ass—

**“I’m still home, boys.”**

We pull away from each other and sit up straight, blushing bright as Alex rounds the corner. She’s agitated but holding in a laugh.

“Your food’s going to get cold,” she says. “Actually, it’s completely cold.”

I wince. “Crap. Already?”

“Can’t we just reheat everything?” Cameron asks.

Alex rolls her eyes. “I suppose. But we’re not using a microwave for any of it. I’ll get the stove going. Come to the kitchen and help me. Both of you.”

She leaves, leaving me and Cameron alone. We giggle, my hoof finding his paw and squeezing.

“You wanna go eat?” he asks.

“God, yes, I’m starving,” I groan, but not before I put another hoof on his paw, holding it firmly as I steal another kiss.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He catches my drift, and he nods slightly, lips threatening to become a frown. “I’ll be okay. Will you stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” I say, and nuzzle his cheek. “Anything for you.”

He leans into me, breathing softly, and I lean back into him. We stay like that until Alex calls again. My hand doesn’t leave his paw for hours. I’ll be here for him, and I’ll stay until he pushes me away, and if he never does, then I guess we’ll be together forever.


End file.
